**Chastity Riley and her new sidekick Ivo investigate the case of newspaper executives who have been caged and tortured outside their offices … on a trail that leads them to the hothouse world of boarding schools and some harrowing secrets…

You loved Dark … now meet Chastity Riley**

‘Caustic, incisive prose. A street-smart, gutsy heroine. A timely and staggeringly stylish thriller’ Will Carver

‘With plenty of dry humour and a good old dash of despair, Simone Buchholz is an unconventional, refreshing new voice’ Crime Fiction Lover

‘Lyrical and pithy’ Sunday Times

On a warm September morning, an unconscious man is found in a cage at the entrance to the offices of one of Germany’s biggest magazines. He’s soon identified as a manager of the company, and he’s been tortured. Three days later, another manager appears in a similar way.

Chastity Riley and her new colleague Ivo Stepanovic are tasked with uncovering the truth behind the attacks, an investigation that goes far beyond the revenge they first suspect … to the dubious past shared by both victims. Travelling to the south of Germany, they step into the hothouse world of boarding schools, where secrets are currency, and monsters are bred … monsters who will stop at nothing to protect themselves.

A smart, dark, probing thriller, full of all the hard-boiled poetry and acerbic wit of the very best noir, Beton Rouge is both a classic whodunit and a scintillating expose of society, by one of the most exciting names in crime fiction.

‘Stripped back in style and deadpan in voice, this is a scintillating romp’ Doug Johnstone, Big Issue

‘With brief, pacy chapters and fizzling dialogue, this almost feels like American procedural noir and not a translation’ Maxim Jakubowski, Crime Time

‘There is a fantastic pace to the story which keeps you hooked from the first sentence all the way to the end. Once again Simone Buchholz holds no punches, with a unique voice that delivers a stylish story’ New Books Magazine

‘The follow-up to Blue Night is a smart and witty book that shines a probing spotlight on society’ CultureFly

‘Fans of Brookmyre could do worse than checking out Simone Buchholz, a star of the German crime lit scene who has been deftly translated into English by Rachel Ward’ Goethe Institute

‘ Beton Rouge is a killer read, original, unusual and yet I felt that a part of it, in fact a part of Chastity, lodged itself deeply within my soul, it’s quite simply fabulous’ LoveReading

‘Great sparkling energy, humour and stylistic verve’ Rosie Goldsmith

‘Short chapters, snappy sentences, witty dialogue and succinct writing have created a fast-paced, “just one more chapter” read … much more than a crime novel’ Off-the-Shelf Books

‘A fantastic story in a unique voice’ Mumbling about…

‘A stunning novel that ends up exploding in your face’ The Last Word Book Review

‘The story and writing slowly seep into your soul’ Books Are My Cwtches

‘An excellent slice of atmospheric crime’ Blue Book Balloon

Review

" Beton Rouge is a fast-paced German thriller set in Hamburg and featuring Chastity Riley of the public prosecutor’s office. She has her cabal of friends with her, but whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is a moot point (adds to the fun though). This is an intriguing revengers tale that explores the nature of blame, guilt and mitigation – what drives a person to crime. Borrowing from the American hardboiled school, the writing is taut, the dialogue sassy and there is an edge of toughness and cynicism to the story. However, what Buchholz borrows she makes her own, the result is a distinctive noir and Chastity is a truly original character. As much as this is a crime story, it’s also Chastity Riley’s personal journey through life, she is the principal fascination of the novel … Buchholz also does a nice line in wry, black humour in her novels and there are some very funny moments in Beton Rouge set against a backdrop of greyness and pessimism … Beton Rouge is a touch of class, a superb noir." — New Books Magazine

"This book is to crime thriller what jazz music is to classical. With plenty of dry humour and a good old dash of despair, Simone Buchholz is an unconventional, refreshing new voice, the likes of which I haven’t heard in German crime fiction since Arjouni." — Crime Fiction Lover

"As ever drinking too much coffee and alcohol, smoking like a trooper and profoundly dry-witted and full of heavy sarcasm, Chastity is a heroine with a difference and here works along new colleague Ivo Stepanovic when two naked, tortured men are found displayed, in quick succession, in front of a magazine’s offices and turn out to have been unpopular managers there. Alongside this mystery, they are also confronted by a hit and run on a cyclist. Is there a connection? But the solution is far from obvious and soon the two cops are investigating the common past of the two humiliated victims and journey south to Bavaria in search of answers, while continuously sparring with sharp, witty dialogue and regularly treading the dark side of their home town which comes over almost as a main character in the best tradition of hardboiled writing with an acute sense of locale. With brief, pacy chapters and fizzling dialogue, this almost feels like American procedural noir and not a translation." —Maxim Jakubowski, Crime Time

"Blue Night has great sparkling energy, humour and stylistic verve . . . and the story itself is gripping and pacey. Simone Buchholz’s homage to Raymond Chandler and Johnny Cash is affectionate and deliberate.Then there’s the interplay of author and translator, like musicians in the same band . . . creating an all-female tour de force." —Rosie Goldsmith, European Literature Network

"This book has been translated, rather excellently, by Rachel Ward, and nothing has been lost in translation. There is a great energy in Buchholz writing and that is reflected in the main character Chastity Riley. While this may be classed as a novella it certainly punches above its weight, with short snappy sentences and chapters, there are no wasted words, no trying to pad the story out. There is also an underlying humour, even if the hero does come across as somewhat unconventional … There is a fantastic pace to the story which keeps you hooked from the first sentence all the way to the end. Once again Simone Buchholz holds no punches, with a unique voice that delivers a stylish story. Buchholz proves that you can pack an excellent crime thriller into 186 pages and engross the reader who wants more, once completed." — NB Magazine

"Chastity Riley, the central character in Simone Buchholz’s sharp and unrelenting crime noir series, is a one of a kind character. . . . The follow-up to Blue Night is a smart and witty book that shines a probing spotlight on society." — Culture Fly

"A slick and stylish thriller with substance." — Mystery Scene

About the Author

Simone Buchholz is the author of Blue Night , for which she won ** the Crime Cologne Award, and was runner-up for the German Crime Fiction Prize. The next in the Chastity Riley series, Beton Rouge , won the Radio Bremen Crime Fiction Award and Best Economic Crime Novel 2017.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

DOG EAT DOG WORLD

The rain creates walls in the night. Falling from the sky, they are like mirrors, reflecting and warping the blue light from the police car. Everything spins.

The street emerges from the darkness and loses itself between the harbour lights, and there – right in the middle, just where it suddenly drops downhill – is where it happened: a cyclist.

She’s lying, twisted, on the asphalt, her strawberry-blonde hair forming a delicate pool around her head. Her pale dress is awash with blood; the blood seems to be flowing from her side, staining the concrete red. There’s a black shoe – some kind of ballet flat – on her right foot and no skin at all on her left. The bike’s lying a few feet away on a grass verge, as if it’s been ditched.

The woman isn’t moving; only her ribcage twitches desperately, as if to rise and fall, but then it doesn’t move at all. Her body is trying to take in air from somewhere.

Two paramedics are leaning over and talking to her, but it doesn’t look as though they’re getting through. It doesn’t look as though anything’s getting through any more. Death is about to give her a ride.

Two police officers are cordoning off the accident site, shadows dancing on their faces. Now and then, a car comes past and drives slowly around her. The people in the cars don’t want to look too closely.

The paramedics do things to their paramedic cases; then they close them, stand up. That must be it, then.
So, thinks God, looking industrious, that’s that. He picks up his well-chewed pencil, crosses the cyclist off , and wonders whose life he could play football with next.

I think: I’m not on duty. I’m just on my way to the nearest pub.
But as I’m here.
‘Hello,’ I say.
What else was I supposed to say?

‘Move along, please,’ says the more solid of the two policemen. He’s pulled his cap right down over his face; raindrops are glittering on his black moustache. The other has his back to me and is on his phone.

‘I certainly can,’ I say, ‘or I can stay and take care of a few things.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Chastity Riley, public prosecutor.’

‘Ah, OK.’

He takes my hand but doesn’t shake it. I feel as though he’s holding it. Because that’s what you do at times like this, when someone’s just died – because a tiny bit of all of us dies along with them and so everything’s a bit shaky. The big policeman and I seem suddenly involved in a relationship of mutual uncertainty.

‘Dirk Kammann,’ he says. ‘Davidwache Station. My colleague’s on the phone to our CID.’

‘OK,’ I say.
‘OK,’ he says, letting go of my hand.
‘Hit-and-run?’ I ask.
‘Looks like it. She hardly drove over her own belly.’
I nod, he nods; we stop talking but stand side by side a while longer.

When the dark-blue saloon draws up with the CID guys from the Davidwache, I say goodbye and go, but I look back round before turning the corner. There’s a grey veil over the brightly lit scene, and it’s not the rain; for once it’s not even the persistent rain that falls in my head. This isn’t my personal charcoal grey; it’s a universal one.

I call Klatsche and tell him that there’s nothing doing tonight. That I don’t feel like the pub.
Then I go home, sit by the window and stare into the night.
The moon looks like it feels sick.